


Callipygian

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a DA kink meme prompt...in which Cullen has a ridiculous(ly lovely) ass and is oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen hissed as the needle slipped, pricking his finger. Sewing had never been one of his strongest talents, even if he did find his trousers in need of repair on a regular basis. This pair had lasted longer than most, at least. He supposed it was inevitable for clothing to succumb to this kind of wear and tear when one led an active lifestyle. Still, it was irritating, since it was difficult to find a decent pair. Also, he felt rather ridiculous now that he had been forced to wear the trousers he’d been provided for the ball at Halamshiral when Samson was supposed to reporting to him in his office any time now. _Of course, he’s late, with all the thrilling entertainment here at Skyhold,_ Cullen rolled his eyes.

He set aside the torn trousers, along with the needle and thread, and checked his papers, making sure that he hadn’t managed to get any blood on them. Thankfully, all was in order. All, that was, except for the strange smell that drifted in as the door creaked open. He wrinkled his nose. Fish and egg pie. He had his reason for Samson’s delay, as well as one not to visit Skyhold’s kitchens today.

 _“Commander.”_ Somehow Samson managed to take something as simple as calling him by his title and make it infuriating. 

“Samson,” he replied curtly. “An interesting time of day to be visiting the kitchens. I do hope the lyrium is not affecting your appetite.”

“You know me, Rutherford. There are some things I just can’t resist.” Samson’s eyes darted to the discarded trousers. “Thinking of abandoning your post to become a seamstress?”

“No,” Cullen flushed, picking up the sewing and carrying it over to a corner by the bookcase. “You’re here to check in with me, not to enquire about my sewing.” He bent down to put the trousers away in a small chest. It was then that he was reminded just how uncomfortably tight these trousers were. The fabric was soft, yet still managed to chafe in the worst places. He was surprised that Samson had not made an attempt at some kind of witty remark, and turned round to make sure the former general wasn’t messing around with his papers or doing something else he shouldn’t be. As he shifted his weight, he heard a familiar _rip._

_Oh, typical._

Usually when Samson laughed, it reminded Cullen of the hyenas one might encounter in the Western Approach, and that had what he had been expecting. What he had certainly not been expecting was Samson sitting in silence, appearing completely hypnotised. Maybe he was still suffering from withdrawal from the red lyrium and had simply spaced out. Well, that suited Cullen just fine, giving him the few seconds he needed to discreetly turn around and forget all about the unfortunate incident until Samson had gone.

“Samson. You’re in my chair.”

“Yeah.” The other man no longer seemed to be quite so away with the fairies as he had done a few moments ago, but was shifting uncomfortably in his, or rather, the _Commander’s_ , seat. Cullen rolled his eyes. Ideally, he would be sitting at his desk to take notes during their meeting, but he could tell Samson was in an awkward sort of a mood today. 

He scanned the desk for the list of questions Dagna had prepared for him, designed to assess the effects of his transition from red lyrium to blue. Personally, he didn’t see why Dagna couldn’t be the one to assess Samson, but the Inquisitor had seemed to be under the illusion that he’d be more likely to open up to Cullen about some of the more…personal questions. _Ah, brilliant._ Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a scrap of vellum bearing Dagna’s very distinctive handwriting, and he could have sworn it hadn’t been on the floor before his guest arrived. He had to smile at such a pathetic effort as he bent down to pick it up. _As though I wouldn’t find it this close to the desk._ All too late, he realised Samson’s true intentions, yelping as a hard slap was delivered to his behind, accompanied by the long-delayed bark of laughter. Cullen could feel his cheeks - all four of them, in fact - reddening.

“Samson, what in the Maker’s-”

“I _told you,_ Rutherford,” he smirked. “There are some things I just can’t resist.”

 _“Raleigh,”_ he sighed, watching Samson wince at the sound of his own name. “Things can’t just go back to how they were before all…this.” He waved his hands, gesturing at nothing in particular. They’d done things like this when they’d shared quarters in the Gallows - played pranks on one another - in some small effort to lighten the mood. He recalled another time when Samson had enlisted Maddox to help him write the most ridiculous love letters Cullen had ever read and leave them on his pillow. It had been funny at the time, but now that memory left a bitter taste. 

Samson snorted. “You think I’d _want_ that?”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you want,” Cullen replied tartly, turning his attention away from Samson and back to Dagna’s list - or at least trying to, with long-forgotten memories of Kirkwall resurfacing. _Samson staying awake and sharing stories with him when he couldn’t sleep. Samson helping him shave on mornings when he was still shaking from the last nightmare. Samson taking him to the Hanged Man just to see his face when he saw the state of the place. Samson sitting slightly too close to him, their legs toughing…_

“Maker’s breath,” Samson muttered. “I’ve told you enough times.” Cullen ignored him, except to check his eyes and complexion as Dagna’s notes dictated. Both had improved, albeit only slightly. His eyes were still a little red, but his irises were starting to regain their brilliant green colour. Most who consumed red lyrium did not live long enough to be rehabilitated, but Samson’s resistance had made it a possibility, if not a certainty. Red lyrium was alive and, like darkspawn and other blighted creatures, it _could_ die. 

“Yes, we all remember what you said during your judgement,” Cullen eventually replied, frowning at Dagna’s next question. Surely he was not expected to ask Samson _that._

“What?” Samson shook his head in disbelief. “You really are _dense.”_ Before Cullen had a chance to tell the other man just how much his patience was being tested, he found himself practically dragged onto Samson’s lap.


	2. Chapter 2

Samson’s lips were rough, but the kiss was soft. Cullen’s thoughts were all over the place, but his body had frozen. This wasn’t the first time. One night in the Hanged Man, when he’d found out just how inexperienced Cullen was, and they’d both had too much to drink, Samson had kissed him. It had been sloppy and clumsy but, honestly, Cullen couldn’t say that it had been wholly unpleasant. His first kiss should be from someone that cared about him, Samson - no, _Raleigh_ \- had told him, before the both of them had burst into fits of laughter. Neither of them mentioned it the next day. Cullen had thought he didn’t remember.

The feeling of Samson’s tongue slipping between his lips and his cock throbbing beneath his thigh drew him away from the comfort of the memory and back into the present. Very gently, he pulled away.

“I- I wrote you letters, Rutherford. _Fucking letters._ ” Cullen could feel Samson’s hands trembling against his hips, and this time he knew it wasn’t from lyrium withdrawal.

“ _Those letters?_ ” Cullen asked, confused. “I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought you were making fun of me.” As expected, Samson looked like a kicked puppy.

“Why would you think that?”

“Samson, you…wrote seven pages about my…buttocks.” He could feel the colour rising in his cheeks again. Those letters had made him blush when he’d thought they were meant as a joke.

“Well, they’re hard to miss,” Samson’s lips curled as his hands slid around to Cullen’s ass and tugged the torn fabric of his trousers. “No wonder _this_ happens.” If possible, Cullen turned even redder.

“Well I- I didn’t have such a problem with templar robes,” he objected. Samson’s hands on his buttocks, gently groping and kneading, were distracting, and he knew he should move, but it was so _nice_ to be touched this way.

“That’s because they’re made to fit men or women,” Samson laughed softly. “Don’t look so upset, it’s not a bad thing. I’ve told you how fond I am-” Cullen pressed his lips to Samson’s again, silencing him for a few moments. He couldn’t think straight while he was talking.

“So you…truly wanted to do all those things?” he asked, thinking back to the letters. Samson grinned, showing every crooked tooth, and Cullen knew the answer.

_Are some of those things even possible?_ Even if they were, Cullen was sure that they couldn’t be…hygienic. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down, unable to hold the other man’s gaze. He couldn’t look into those eyes now, not when he knew what was going on in Samson’s head. _In all of their heads._

“Cullen.” He turned away from the hand that brushed against his cheek. _“Cullen.”_

“No one takes me seriously.” It was barely a whisper, but Samson heard it. “The mages, the other templars…the Orlesian nobles at Halamshiral,” he added with particular distaste. He was _Commander of the Inquisition’s forces_ , and he’d worked hard to get here. _Maker, never mind our enemies, I’m probably a laughing stock amongst our own troops…_

Even if Samson rolled his eyes, his voice was gentle. “I’d wager people take you more seriously than a burned out husk of a templar begging coins in the chokedamp.” He grinned again, noticing the smile that had begun to tug at the corners of Cullen’s lips. 

“Of course you’d say that now,” Cullen said quietly, trying hard to ignore Samson’s erection, still pressing uncomfortably against his thigh. _I suppose I won’t have to ask him **that** question, after all._

“Why? Seems to me like I’ve already seduced you.” 

“You’re insufferable, _Raleigh_ ,” he muttered, tilting his head back as Samson leaned forward and pressed his lips against Cullen’s neck. He hadn’t recoiled at the sound of his name this time.

“I know.” The words curled and rippled against his skin, and Samson gave him a playful nip. He blushed again when he noticed the unconscious rolling of his hips. Almost as embarrassing was the way his cock had started to strain against the flimsy fabric of his dress trousers, causing the material to cling even more than usual to his hips and thighs. 

“Think we’d better get you out of those.” Cullen groaned. _Where **does** he get these lines? ___

__“Fine, but…upstairs.” Samson positively beamed._ _

__“After you, _Commander._ ”_ _

__“Stop undressing me with your eyes,” Cullen complained, as he climbed the ladder. It creaked slightly as Samson stepped onto it._ _

__“I wasn’t planning on using my eyes-” The weight of the two of them on the ladder caused it to sway slightly, knocking Cullen off balance. Samson made no attempt to suppress his laughter. _First my clothes, and now my entire office is falling apart,_ Cullen sighed. Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing inviting Samson up here. Nevertheless, he offered his hand to help him up when he reached the top. _ _

__“You’ve always had cold hands,” Samson commented, seemingly reluctant to let go. Cullen looked down, then glanced awkwardly at the unmade bed - he’d been in a hurry this morning._ _

__“A strange thing to remember,” Cullen gave a nervous laugh, edging ever so slightly closer towards the bed. _Maker, am I really going to do this?_ He’d thought about it before, after the first time Samson had kissed him, but since then he’d barely had the time to think much about _anybody_ like that. “I haven’t really- that is, I don’t-” Finding the right words was far trickier than he had expected._ _

__“You’ve always been easily flustered, too,” Samson ignored the younger man’s indignant expression as his hands drifted from his waist to his hips, fingernails grazing the fabric that clung uncomfortably to his thighs, occasionally letting them brush against Cullen’s cock until he was moaning softly into his shoulder. “See,” Samson whispered, with a smile, pressing a kiss to a particularly red cheek._ _

__Cullen had thought a great many things about Raleigh Samson since the two of them had met, but not once in all these years had he imagined that he could be such a tease._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun writing this...I promise there will be proper smut soon, these two just have a lot to talk about I guess ;)


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had warmed the bedsheets enough that Cullen had no reason to complain when Samson unlaced him and peeled the ill-fitting trousers from his thighs. _That hole in the ceiling is good for something, at least._ He wriggled slightly as Samson’s stubble tickled his thigh.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his lips still distracted by the soft flesh. Cullen didn’t think he looked very sorry. He closed his eyes as Samson’s fingers twisted and tugged at the fabric of his smallclothes. “Don’t think you’ll be needing these.” He was sure he could hear Samson smirking.

“You’re a little overdressed, yourself,” he found himself replying as the underwear slid to his knees. He was embarrassed almost as soon as the words had left his mouth.

“Oh? Does the _Commander_ have an _order_ for me then?” Cullen shut his eyes again so he didn’t have to see the smug look on his face. Was he really going to make him say it? 

“Just…” _Oh, Maker._ “Don’t make me say it.” If he said it, that made it real, and he didn’t know if he was ready to accept that just yet. He shivered as Samson hummed against his thigh. 

“ _Please_ , Cullen.” The glint in his eyes was still there, but he looked serious. “Tell me what you want.” Something in his tone told Cullen that he _needed_ to hear it. 

“I-” When he looked into Samson’s green eyes and ran his fingers through what was left of his hair, his voice faltered. _Why is it so hard to say?_ He rubbed the back of his neck. “You,” he said, so quietly that it was barely a whisper. “I want you.” 

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” And Samson didn’t smirk, he smiled.

Cullen’s hands trembled when he brought them to the other man’s belt, and lingered on the buckle longer than they should have done. But Samson was patient with him. Unlike Cullen’s trousers, his barely grazed his hips as they slid off. 

“You’re so…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Samson grinned anyway, or Cullen thought he did. It was hard to draw his attention away from those lean, muscular thighs, the modest curve of his hipbones, and of course…

“Seen something you like?” Samson teased, rolling to the side and dragging the Commander with him. He flushed as he glanced at Samson, now lying beneath him. At some point - Cullen wasn’t quite sure when - he’d managed to remove his shirt.

“Don’t make me say it _again_ ,” he pleaded, busying himself with removing the rest of his clothes to hide from the insufferable general’s gaze, if only for a few moments.

“Say what, _Commander_?” Cullen whimpered as Samson rolled his hips in an upwards motion. _Get a hold of yourself, Cullen. The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces does not **whimper.**_ Samson pulled him closer, so that he could feel his breath against his neck. “That you-”

“Shut up,” Cullen grumbled, roughly pulling his hair and drawing him into another kiss. At least he couldn’t say such embarrassing things that way. _He always did talk too much._

Cullen gasped when those teasing fingers brushed the tip of his erection again, thrusting eagerly into Samson’s hand. Somehow his expectations of this morning had gone from quick and efficient paperwork to desperately rutting against his former roommate and traitor to the Templar Order. 

“Touch yourself,” Samson whispered, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss. Cullen shook his head. 

“I-I can do that anytime,” he mumbled, though he had to look away at as he said it. _I want **you** to touch me._

“Really?” Samson smiled mischievously. “Do you? Right here? Or in your office, perhaps?”

“Please, Raleigh,” he begged. “Stop…teasing me.” Samson adjusted himself slightly so that he was propped up against a pillow, and looked at Cullen.

“Do you remember what I wrote in my third letter?” Cullen shook his head again.

“Remind me.” Samson motioned for him to turn around, and he complied. He was good at following instructions. After his limbs were guided to their proper positions, he was found himself on all fours, with his ass in the air and the colour rushed back to his cheeks. It was…not dignified. It was certainly not something the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces would do. He shuddered as strong hands gripped his hips.

“ _Maker_ , you’re beautiful.” Samson stopped for a few moments to appreciate Cullen’s shapely hips, his trembling thighs, and the way his buttocks quivered with the slightest movement. 

“Don’t say s-” Cullen bit his lip as he felt a careful finger slide inside him. It was a strange sensation, but by no means unpleasant, and soon his cock bounced gently against his stomach in rhythm with the involuntary movements of his hips.

“This bringing back any memories?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Cullen smiled to himself. “But I’m sure if you keep trying, I might remember something.”

He could tell Samson was restraining himself, even as the second finger curled inside him. His hips jerked in response, the delicate flesh on his thighs rippling with the motion. Samson came closer, murmured something against his back, but he wasn’t listening. He buried his face into the pillow so that no one would hear the depraved moans that threatened to escape his mouth. _Especially not Samson._

He was only dimly aware of the other man shifting his weight before being overwhelmed by something soft and wet where Samson’s fingers had been. _Oh, Maker, is that really…_ Cullen swore into the pillow. This really was too much. He was trying as hard as he could to stay still, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage with the way Samson’s tongue prodded and licked. He wrapped his fingers loosely around his cock and began to stroke himself. Somehow it didn’t seem so embarrassing any more.

The faint moan and the way Samson suddenly shuddered against him made Cullen’s cock twitch in his hand. His grip tightened and he felt Samson’s hand close over his as his movements became more erratic. He trembled as he came, whimpering something that sounded suspiciously like _‘Raleigh’_ into the pillowcase. When he turned around to look at him, he noticed Samson was blushing slightly. _What right did **he** have to be embarrassed?_

“That was…something,” Cullen mumbled after a few too many seconds of silence. _A good something_ , or at least he thought so. Perhaps it was too early to tell.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Samson replied quietly, his eyes focussed on his clothes. It took Cullen a moment to understand.

“You don’t have to leave. I mean, that is, if you _want_ to stay, you-”

“Do _you_ want me to stay?” 

“…Yes.” Avoiding the soiled patches of the bedsheets, Cullen pulled the covers over them both. He could stay a little longer. _What harm could it do?_ “But don’t kiss me,” he said, batting Samson away. “It was bad enough when you only tasted of fish and egg pie.” 

“Fine,” Samson chuckled, before delivering another firm smack to Cullen’s behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! Though I *may* do a little epilogue, possibly from Samson's POV (no promises though) ;) Thanks to all who stayed and put up with my ridiculously slow writing pace, and I hope it was what Teyla hoped for <3


End file.
